The Interrogation
by Pandora600
Summary: The interrogation of Bridget von Hammersmark rewritten. Colonel Hans Landa discovers the guilty actress' shameful secret, and uses it to uncover the truth, as only a good detective can...
1. Guilty

_Hello everyone! I've enjoyed the Inglourious Basterds fics on this site for some time, and was inspired to try one of my own. Just a note; I'm trying to take my story in a different direction direction to Crystalrose7788's interpretation of the scene, which I have been thoroughly enjoying. Unfortunately, I do not own Hans Landa (damn!) or any aspect of Inglourious Basterds. _

_Enjoy, and review please!!_

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Colonel Hans Landa opened the door to the cinema's office and ushered Bridget von Hammersmark inside with a flourish. She tried to return his self-assured smile, but her heart was in her throat and all she could manage was a slight upturning of her red lips. She entered the small, dimly lit office, favouring her uninjured leg, and cast her eyes about quickly, looking for a weapon, an escape, anything...

'Take a seat, Fraulein von Hammersmark.'

His voice was pleasant, his English impeccable. Landa pulled up a chair for her, directly against the office's only door, Hammersmark noticed with a flutter of sickening fear. He shrugged out of his leather overcoat, hanging it on the back of the chair before gesturing for her to sit. She had no choice but to lower herself into the chair, as elegantly as she could, and try to keep her expression neutral and pleasant. Her heart beat faster as she realised what she had become; a scared little girl, absolutely cornered.

She watched as the Colonel retrieved a chair for himself, sitting directly opposite her. His perfectly pressed S.S. uniform heightened her intimidation, complimenting the line of his shoulders and accentuating his masculine strength and latent power. Landa was close – close enough for their knees to brush against each other slightly as he relaxed, despite her rigid posture.

Why was she even noticing such things? Hans Landa, the ruthless Jew Hunter, the cold-hearted murderer. And yet, in her state of fear and tension, Hammersmark could not deny her long-held interest. _Was interest the right word?_ Perhaps it was more accurate to say that Landa had always unnerved her, intimidated her in a way that the masses of star-struck, stuttering fans never could. He was not afraid of her, and he showed it. He had always made her nervous with his smooth voice and impeccable manners. It was as though he was constantly hiding his prodigious intelligence and cold calculation just below the surface, and his true self was ready to erupt at any moment. She could not help but remember that being in this situation, alone in a room with the Colonel, at his mercy, had been a prominent feature in her most secret fantasies for quite some time. However, the glint in Landa's eyes suggested that this private interview would be as far from Hammersmark's fantasies as was possible.

His eyes, so dark and dangerous, caught hers, and he smiled again, wider, snapping her from her thoughts. It was as though he could see straight into her soul, or hear her thoughts. She fought to keep up her cool, calm facade, and met Landa's eyes without flinching. His voice was a smooth as honey.

'Let me see your foot, Fraulein von Hammersmark.'

It was not a request, it was a command. Her eyes dropped, but she could still feel the Colonel's unrelenting gaze watching her. Her hand tightened around the arm of her chair. _Stall him, _she thought.

'I – I beg your pardon?'

She put on her best tone of feminine shock, batting her eyelashes at him with a tone of innocent confusion. He simply patted his left thigh with the smile on his face widening, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world. His expression was full of knowing and mischief.

'Colonel, you embarrass me.'

She was reduced to using her best flirtatious voice, the one that had melted so many lesser men's hearts with ease. She could barely conceal the nervous quaver in her tone as she saw the hard resolve on his face, the look of absolute confidence which told her that, one way or another, Colonel Landa would have his way.

'Put your foot in my lap.'

He spelled it out for her, the command in his voice even more evident. She briefly considered refusing him, even opening her mouth to snap back at him. But the look in his eyes told her that such a refusal would be very unwise. His smile faded slightly, as if he were growing weary of her games. He once again lifted his left arm, pointing with his index finger downwards, onto his knee. She was a deer caught in the headlights, and could do nothing but shift in her seat and raise her shaking, uninjured foot, resting it on his thigh.

His leg was warm and solid against the heat of her own skin; she realised with a chill running down her spine that this was the first time he had touched her beyond the courtesy of kissing her hand in social situations. She had absolutely no idea what was to come, which made her feel still more terrified and vulnerable.

With absolute precision and care, Landa undid the buckle of her silver stiletto. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was sure that he would hear the pounding of her heart. Painstakingly, Landa removed her shoe and placed it on the floor beside him, returning his gaze to hers with greater intensity. Her heart beat louder, the now bare foot upon his knee shaking slightly.

'Now, Fraulein, if you would please reach into my right coat pocket and take out what you find there?'

She stared at him for a moment, easing her racing heart, until he nodded to her in encouragement. Slowly, she turned in her seat, reaching into to deep recesses of the black coat's pocket, noticing that the coat smelled slightly of him – of aftershave and leather and tobacco. For a brief moment, she was sure that nothing was in the pocket. She almost laughed in hysterical relief, until her fingers slipped against something hard and angular. She pulled her hand out slowly, uncomprehendingly, until she saw the object herself. A shoe.

_Her_ shoe.

The floor seemed to disappear beneath her, and she was falling, helpless, the bile rising in her throat. She was a mouse, cornered by the cat. She knew it was over, and from the look of utter guilt on her face, it was a wonder that the Colonel even bothered to make her try the shoe on.

He took the heel from her shaking hand, his expression unreadable. Her foot glided into the shoe with ease, of course. He looked up in delighted triumph. Once again, the great detective had done his job well.

'What is that expression – if the shoe fits, you must wear it?'

For a moment, his expression showed nothing but bemusement. Hammersmark, in that moment, dared to hope that everything would be alright. And then the amusement in his eyes vanished, the boyish smile gone. Suddenly. Hammersmark was facing the true Hans Landa. She gave one last attempt at nonchalance.

'What now, Colonel?'

He was motionless, staring directly into her eyes. Slowly, his face got redder, his fury mounting. He did not blink. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably only seconds, he moved. With a flick of his hand, her foot was knocked off his knee, the heel clattering against the floor. He straightened in his seat, taking a deep, measured breath. And still, his eyes did not waver from hers.

Suddenly, with a swiftness that Hammersmark did not think possible, he was leaning forward, hands tightening painfully around her wrists, pinning them into the arms of her chair. His face was inches from hers, and he was pressing her back into the chair unforgivingly, his legs pressing painfully into hers. She gave a low cry, struggling with all her might to break his iron grip. But Landa's strength was everything she had expected, and she could not move an inch. Her eyes fiilled with tears. Light headed now, she was absently aware of his smell, so much stronger now, the masculine scent intoxicating her, making her weaker.

'_Traitor.'_

Landa snarled in her ear, his honey-coated tone completely forgotten, and for a moment he lost his carefully cultivated control. The passion in his voice... It made her moan and plead incoherently, and not just due to her fear.

'You _will_ tell me _every detail _of your little operation, Fraulein von Hammersmark, starting from the moment you sold yourself out to the Allies.'

She blinked the tears out of her eyes, fighting to stay conscious. She looked up at his face, so close. The slight stubble on his chin, the vein pulsing in his forehead, his heaving breath. His voice in her ear... it was almost...

'It would be _very _unwise for you to keep me waiting, Bridget.'

It was the sound of him saying her name that broke her. Before she could think about what she was doing, Bridget von Hammersmark lent forward and kissed Colonel Landa, moaning against his lips. In his moment of absolute surprise, Landa released her trapped wrists. Th actress took advantage of this, reaching up to run her hands through his hair, pulling him closer. She was lost in her passion, kissing his face, his neck, breathing him in...

It took her a full twenty seconds to realise that Landa was not responding. He allowed her to continue her assault until she paused with this realisation, completely humiliated. With absolute formality, Colonel Landa extracted himself from her arms, stepping back and straightening his uniform with deliberate slowness. Following his initial shock, Landa had regained his mask of composure completely, with the exception that his renewed smile had an even greater look of triumph and satisfation to it.

Hammersmark, breathing heavily and looking up at him with a look of both lust and terror, realised her mistake. By revealing her feelings, she had simply given Landa another tool with which to extract information out of her. She was sure that Landa would use his new knowledge to make her will crumble beneath him.

He spoke again, as if nothing had happened, the smooth tone back.

'As I was saying, you will tell me of all of your dealings with the Allies, Fraulein. And you will tell me of anything else I choose to ask you.'

She had nothing left to hide from him. He knew her darkest secret, and he was going to use it against her.

'Stand up, please,' Landa requested, his smile full of arrogance and anticipation.


	2. An experiment

_Here is chapter 2– I'm sort of at a loss of where to go from here. Any ideas/suggestions would be great. Any reviews are much appreciated!_

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She stood slowly, barely trusting her legs to hold her up. The humiliation of her earlier actions was still written clearly across Bridget von Hammersmark's face. Her eyes were glued to the floor, her cheeks burning.

'Step forward, please, Fraulein von Hammersmark..'

Landa's pleasant, formal tone was far worse than any harsh command.

She stepped into the center of the small room, as Landa moved the chair he was sitting on, replacing it neatly behind the desk in the corner. Like a shark, he began to circle her, slowly, looking her up and down. All the while, he hummed quietly, some tune she did not recognize. As he passed around her closer, she could smell his cologne, reminding her further of her stupid lapse in judgement. Her cheeks burned brighter, and Landa chuckled to himself. Bridget dared not move, refusing to buckle beneath his intense stare.

'So, Fraulein, how long has it been now, since your initial defection?'

Hammersmark was silent. She would not give in to him, she decided. He may have her dignity, but she would never talk. The silence between them grew. Horrible images rushed through her head; he would torture her, perhaps break her fingers one by one or slowly strangle her until she gave in. She had heard the stories. The moment stretched into minutes, until she could hardly stand the tension any longer. He had stopped circling her, instead standing directly behind her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, but still refused to turn.

Landa watched Bridget von Hammersmark in fascination; her breathlessness and shaking shoulders. Unlike her, he was thoroughly enjoying the silence. Of all the aspects of his job, he had always liked the interrogations the most. The lengthy process of logic and questioning, the subtle evidence of hidden agendas he could easily pick up from his victims. He reveled in their slowly growing desperation and helplessness, their mounting fear intoxicated him. Like a lover undressing his beloved, Landa stripped away lies and deception. Final victory – the extraction of the truth – was but an inevitable formality. It was the process which he enjoyed the most. This interrogation was no different. However, instead of using fear as his interrogation tool, Landa would manipulate different emotions in this victim. He would break Bridget von Hammersmark in a completely new way. The prospect of this experiment excited him more than he cared to admit.

She felt his warm palm on her shoulder, his thumb tracing the arch of her neck. Landa was behind her, and hearing his voice whisper in her ear made Bridget give out a short gasp.

'Bridget... we can make this easy or we can make this hard.'

He unclasped her diamond necklace, sliding it from her neck and placing it on the table beside him. Now, with better access, he allowed his hands to run along the back of her neck, his fingers moving to loosely encircle her throat.

Bridget was not prepared for his actions. His hands, even his use of her first name... They left her helpless, unable to suppress the soft moan escaping her throat. She considered that perhaps torture and death would be better than this humiliation. She moaned again, dropping her head back against his shoulder.

'Colonel...'

His breath was warm on her neck, moving up and down, stopping just behind her ear. He was too close...

'How long?'

His voice was soft and sing-song, and she answered without thinking.

'Three years...'

'Good girl.'

She melted back into his arms, pressing her back into his chest. He did not move, or freeze up in the way that he had done when Bridget kissed him. Instead, Landa allowed their bodies to remain pressed together, and he again began to trace patterns on her neck, softly, barely touching. His lips remained just behind her ear, but never touched. His slow breathing tickled the skin of her neck, contrasting with her shallow, gasping breaths. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides.

'And who, may I ask, is your current contact? I am guessing your 'Italian' escort may have something to do with it?'

He spoke barely above a whisper, his voice low and smooth. As he spoke, his large, calloused hands slid from her neck, to her shoulders, her upper arms, and across to cover her hammering heart. Ever so lightly, Landa's fingers traced the skin just above the neckline of her dress, refusing to move lower. She almost cried out in frustration, but did not reply.

'Do you perhaps need some time alone to think, Fraulein von Hammersmark?'

With that, his hands began to move away from her neck, his body stiffening.

'Y-yes. My escort is the contact.'

She felt guilt settle in her stomach for a brief moment, but the Colonel's hands returned to her body, melting away all other sensations. Landa rewarded her answer by starting to toy with the sleeves of her dress, sliding one off her shoulder and leaving gentle kisses along her now bare shoulder.

'He is the American leader of the _Basterds_, is he not? Aldo Raine is his name, yes?'

He slid the other sleeve down her arm, allowing her dress to lower, exposing her breasts to the cold air. Her nipples were hard to the point of painfulness, and yet he did not touch, simply waiting for the answer to his question.

'Yes.'

She choked, ready to get on her knees and beg Landa to stop his teasing.

He rewarded her answer by allowing one hand to slide from her shoulder, moving to cup her left breast, softly at first. The roughness of his palm made her gasp slightly, and as his fingertips found her nipple, she began to moan more loudly. He placed his other hand over her mouth, silencing her cries, as he rubbed harder, mercilessly worrying her sensitive nipple.

Dimly, Bridget was aware of a growing hardness pressed up against her lower back. Landa's breathing had changed, the slow, calm pace picking up to mirror her own excitement. Apparently, Landa quickly became aware of these changes, too, for before she could stop him, he was gone, across the room, facing away from her. She could hear the rustle of fabric as Landa adjusted his pants. He turned back with the smile on his face fading for a moment, replaced with something darker, more urgent. His eyes told the truth - that reducing the actress into a quivering, lustful mess made him feel more than just some detached sense of control and power. And then the look was gone, his mocking, wide smile back.

But in that moment, Bridget von Hammersmark realised something that changed everything. Perhaps she was not completely powerless in this situation after all. For, with his desire, the Colonel had finally revealed a point of weakness in his seemingly impenetrable armor. She fought to disguise the gleam of triumph in her eyes, considering the ways she could press this new advantage.


End file.
